If what swept you up in Legacy was watching Dag and Fawn learn each other’s rhythms on the road—navigating Lakewalker–farmer customs, sharing campfires, and turning wary trust into devotion—then you’ll click with Halla and Sarkis in Swordheart. A practical widow inherits a magical sword whose trapped warrior appears whenever she draws the blade. Their prickly, funny, and deeply tender rapport grows with every mile and mishap, much like Dag and Fawn’s bond as they negotiate family skepticism and patrol duties.

In Legacy, the tension between Lakewalkers and farmers—whether at Hickory Lake Camp or on the Bluefield farm—drives so many choices, from marriage politics to patrol cooperation. The Blue Sword centers that same cultural fault line as Harry Crewe is claimed by the Damarian king and must bridge worlds between colonizing Homelanders and the land-rooted Damarians. If you loved Dag trying to build kinship across suspicion, you’ll relish Harry’s journey as she learns a new land’s traditions and fights for both sides to survive.

Part of Legacy’s charm is its close-in feel: patrol camps, farm kitchens, and a community’s safety hanging on the next decision about a malice. Uprooted keeps that intimate scope—Agnieszka’s small valley, the exacting “Dragon,” and the sinister Wood pressing at the borders. If the quiet domesticity of Dag and Fawn’s moments made the nearby dangers feel sharper, this story’s village-scale stakes and hard-won, personal victories will feel right at home.

If you were moved by Dag’s steady decency—his patient bridge‑building between Lakewalker law and farmer life, and his refusal to let bitterness define his marriage with Fawn—then Maia in The Goblin Emperor will resonate. Thrust into a treacherous court, Maia survives not by cruelty but by compassion, listening, and thoughtful reform. It offers the same hopeful lift you felt when Dag chose cooperation over contempt at Hickory Lake Camp.

A big pull in Legacy is how Lakewalker ground-sense and the making of sharing knives come with responsibilities—Dag constantly weighs what he should do versus what he can do. In Witchmark, Dr. Miles Singer hides his healing magic within an oppressive class system, unraveling a conspiracy that treats power as entitlement. If Dag’s ethical tug‑of‑war—protecting farmers without owning them—hooked you, Miles’s fight to use power justly will, too, and there’s a tender romance threaded through the danger.